Electrifying
by InkblotsOnThePage
Summary: The story of Beetee, and all his loved ones. SHORT STORY COLLECTION
1. Sour Peaches

He bit into another peach, the sour taste filling up his mouth, causing tears to flow to his eyes. He had fallen so far, so fast. He could still remember his days of glory, much like the taste of sweet peaches.

But alas, those were but memories, painted thickly over reality to rid the pain of tomorrow and life. And now the paint was chipping, and reality was bursting forth, the ugly colors clashing together to create more pain.

So he stayed in his couch, eating sour peaches and staring out the window at tree upon tree of more sour peaches. Everything seemed tasteless at this point, except for the sour peaches that only brought pain.

He wished to once again taste the sweetness buried beneath the sourness of each peach, but his mouth would only let him taste the bitter side of the fruit.

So he ate the peaches, just to feel something, no matter how small. He devoured fruit after fruit, but still could not rid himself of the big hole inside himself. He still couldn't feel anything.

He was still a body without emotion. Devoid. Dead. Nothing seemed to help, as he continued eating the sour fruit that was obviously underripe. Somedays he'd try to stop, only to be filled with such an emotion that caused him no pain, but no peace either.

At this point, the only emotion he felt was numbness. It was eating away at his thoughts, his very being until all that was left of him was a shell. Even his outside began to deteriorate, as he started becoming weaker.

Even his memories, that once brought him happiness only seemed to be glazed in more and more numbness, each one tasting as sour as the peaches.

He couldn't take it anymore, any of it. The pain, the taste that would last forever in his mind no matter what he did. His memories had become his nightmares, his angels melting away into demon forms that he could not beat.

He couldn't even remember what sun felt like. Everytime he tried going out, the sun was always shielded by his own dark cloud that could never be chased away.

All he could remember was sitting in his comforter, waiting for tomorrow. But if he had learned anything, it was in Panem, there is no tomorrow, only today. The only tomorrow was the sweet release of death.

Death. Death of loved ones was all to fresh for him, biting into him, tearing him apart, until there was nothing left by the darkness. There was no light in Panem, only more mutts. Mutts that were dark and mysterious until they tore you to shreds.

Which was how he felt. Torn to shreds, pieces scattered everywhere. In the arenas, in his district, and one in every grave of a loved one. Buried, gone, disintegrated forever with no rescue.

He took the last peach off the plate, taking a bite.

It was sweet.

**Well, each chapter will be approximately 500 words. This one was 494.**


	2. Ice Cream

He could remember a time when he would eat ice cream. A time when he didn't have a fear in the world, a time where he was living in the midst of a lie. A lie that everyone believed. But if everyone believed it, would it not be a truth?

He could clearly remember her. His one and only, the light in his nightmare world of demons and evils. He still remembered her favorite type of ice cream, and how they had quarreled over what was the best type.

Her favorite was the ten flavored ice cream, swirling around, a rainbow of colors. It was called a Riot of Flavor, much like her. Always full of ideas, always rioting towards her freedom, fiery.

He missed her. He missed her hair, the way she smiled, and the way she stopped in the middle of her sentences, waiting for him to finish them for her.

She always seemed so quiet to others, rarely speaking, mumbling a few words here and there. But to him, he would always remember the nights she came barreling into his mansion, yelling about her opinions.

She was like the flavors in her ice cream. Red, for her fiery spirit. Orange, for when she was happy, bouncing around and putting things together. Yellow, for all the times she reminisced on her childhood. Green, how she looked when she was sleeping. Blue, for when she was sad and he would comfort her. And purple, for the mysterious way she spoke, stopping mid-sentence as if remembering an old friend.

His favorite flavor was always vanilla, plain and simple. It was the way he was as well, an old classic that braved the times it was in no matter what. Sometimes, he wished she was more like vanilla, just so she would still be there, next to him.

But if she were vanilla, she wouldn't be the riot he loved.

He was vanilla, calm and patient. Always willing to finish what she started, it be a sentence or something bigger. Vanilla never fought back too much, simply sat on your tongue until it melted and you could taste the flavor seeping in and engulfing you.

He couldn't be vanilla now. He owed that much to her just to for once riot back at the evil lurking in their country. He had to do what he feared most and rebel against the forces holding him back.

For her sake. They were the ones who killed her, forcing her to be slaughtered like a pig in the brutality of the games. They were the ones who killed her, the ones who ran that knife down her throat.

I was back in the cafe we first met, the cafe where we first debated the better flavor, the cafe we fell in love in.

"What flavor?" the cafe owner asks, handing me a menu. It isn't needed, I know exactly what I want.

"A riot of flavor, please."

**Weird. Also 494 words. Oh well. Anyways, I've got more chapters planned my non-existant fans!**


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